Chapter Thirty-Three
After half an hour underneath the pews, Beth could tell the rain had mostly stopped. The thunder and lightning seemed to have moved on, but neither she nor Drew moved.
At some point during the storm, he’d pulled her closer, enveloping her in his arms, and now, still lying beside him, hand resting calmly on his chest, she wished they could continue to hide away.
But they had to face reality at some point.
“I suppose we should go check on the farm.” Dread resonated in his voice. All that work—his work—was on the line. “Not knowing is worse than facing it.”
Somehow she had the feeling he wasn’t talking only about the damage from the storm.
She drew in a deep breath, then inched her way out of his arms. “I guess you’re right.”
He scooted out from under the pew and stood, staring at her.
They’d hardly spoken since he’d arrived, opting instead to listen to the storm as it beat on the sides of the chapel, praying the roof wouldn’t cave.
But now, when she looked at him, she saw him more clearly than she had before. “I’m sorry, Drew.”
He held up a hand. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”
She wanted to say more. To ask questions and make sense of the burden he carried, but she knew that wasn’t what he needed right now. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him in an apologetic hug, wishing she’d been more understanding from the start. He held her for a long moment, then slipped his hand in hers and led her out of the church, Roxie close behind.
They started toward the farmhouse, walking through the wet grass, rain still dripping from the leaves overhead. Branches were down all over the yard, and the Adirondack chairs they’d set up around the bonfire had been blown out into the cornfield.
“Looks like we did lose a couple of trees.” He pointed off to the right where the tree line met the cornfield.
The potential devastation of a storm like this began to sink in. They’d worked tirelessly for weeks—what if everything they’d accomplished had been undone in a matter of minutes?
Drew squeezed her hand, leading her toward the main barn. They both knew this building was the most important. They could reopen the farm without any others, but this one housed everything they needed for the fall, not to mention the barn sale only a few weekends away.
Beth’s stomach lurched as they maneuvered through the downed branches and debris scattered across the yard.
Drew led her around to the front of the barn, which from this vantage point seemed undamaged, but when they opened the doors, they saw a gaping hole in the back corner where the roof had torn away. Several inches of water stood in a puddle, ruining their newly finished floor.
Without the roof intact, the storm had ripped through the building, tossing tables and breaking glass. Branches, leaves and dirt had collected all across the floor.
Beth stood at the center of the barn in a puddle of water, and hopelessness washed over her. “It’s ruined.”
Drew started around the perimeter, assessing the damage the same way he’d done his first day on the job. Birdie’s artwork and several pieces from the farmhouse had been drenched—probably ruined. The overturned tables that had been collecting barn-sale items looked like remnants of a riot, their contents in piles all over the wet floor. Two sets of shelves they’d installed had been torn away from the wall, and the glass cooler was broken.
At the back of the barn, Drew stopped, his face looking every bit as forlorn as Beth felt. For once, she didn’t mind that he had nothing to say. She didn’t need words to know what he thought.
Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket, and she went through the motions of fishing it out and answering.
“Miss Whitaker. Davis Biddle.”
She nodded, as if he could see her through the phone.
“We just drove by Fairwind and saw the damage. Looks like the cleanup and repairs will be extensive.”
Why was he calling her to tell her what she already knew?
“Just wanted you to know my offer is still good.”
Her eyes found Drew, who watched her as she listened to the man on the other end. Was it some sort of sign that it was time to let go of this crazy idea once and for all? Had she been wrong—again—about what God wanted her to do? She’d been so sure when she’d gone against her father’s wishes, so sure when she’d devoted so many years to Michael. She’d thought this time was different.
She’d thought Fairwind was her “why.”
She’d even begun to think that living here, in Willow Grove, wasn’t a consolation prize. It didn’t make her a disappointment—it was a gift, like Birdie said.
How could she have been so wrong?
“Miss Whitaker, I’m sure you’re in shock right now, but believe me, this is nothing I can’t handle.”
If Davis bought Fairwind, it wouldn’t be a community gem anymore. It wouldn’t be a tourist attraction or a place for families to reconnect. It would just be a memory of what used to be.
Is that what You really want, Lord?
She looked down at the water pooling around her feet, thanked Davis and hung up, avoiding that earnest expression on the face of the man she loved.
She’d have to find a way to explain to Drew that all their hard work might have been for nothing. They might have to sell the farm to Davis Biddle—whether they wanted to or not.